


Gun Shots

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, shooting teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tidy guns, tidy mind....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gun Shots

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Shaw cleaning Root's guns pre-mission to disguise her worry.
> 
> Excuse errors, this was written hastily.

The computers hum a dulcet tone, illuminating the subway car with bright light. Shaw works by this light, sat on the edge of her bedding arrangement as the dark glow of the station casts shadows over her hands as she methodically takes apart the gun in front of her.

She reaches behind her, hand rummaging in the rustled sheets for the gun cloth. She picks up the separated barrel, bringing it up to her eye line and running the cloth though the length with a careful thoroughness.

Root wanders down to where Shaw sits, fastening the last few buttons of her shirt and fixing her hair. She stands over Shaw, head blocking the light Shaw works by as she gazes at Shaw’s hands swiftly reassembling the final gun and setting it next to its partner on the bed.

Shaw looks up defiantly at Root.

‘What?’

Root turns her head downwards, taking in Shaw’s hunched posture, hands holding the black cloth: unmoving.

‘Nothing.’

Shaw grunts, standing up to put back her cleaning equipment securing it with her guns in her locker. Root watches the whole process with rapt attention, her face settling in a soft expression as Shaw finishes tightening the lock.

Turning around to face Root, Shaw takes in the expression coldly, her face betraying nothing.

She walks forward to stand a little in front of Root, just out of reach.

‘Who are you this time?’

‘Claire Feynman; Math teacher.’

‘You and kids: sure that’s a good mix?’

‘I can’t wait to brighten young minds Sameen.’

Root takes a step forward crushing the respectful distance between them. Shaw’s glare remains defiant as ever. Root meets it with her own softened gaze leaving subtle somewhere out of reach as her eyes swim with affection.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve seen my guns have you sweetie?’

Shaw’s jaw visibly clenches, body tensing as Root’s mouth twitches with a grin.

‘What’re you gonna do? Shoot some pre-pubescent’s?’

‘You never know: one might get a little bit too hands on and I do need some protection.’

‘Hands on in math: weirdass kinks and boners.’

‘That irk you Sameen?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t have even a little teacher kink?’

Root takes half a step closer now well and truly in Shaw’s space, though Shaw makes no move to retreat. Root inches forward seemingly heading straight for Shaw. Shaw never breaks eye contact, watching as Root reaches past her for the glasses on the table behind her and pulling back.

Root smirks.

Shaw glares, though it lacks bite. Not that it ever affected Root anyway.

Root slides the wireframe glasses onto her face, smirking all the while.

‘Ready for work.’

Shaw almost grimaces at the jubilant tone but settles for a grunt and pushes past Root, picking up the two handguns and thrusting them towards her.

‘Don’t shoot them all.’

Root grins, eyes trained on Shaw as she takes the guns from her grasp.

‘There’s silencers on the way out on your left.’

Root raises an eyebrow.

‘I’m getting mixed messages here. I’m not entirely sure you don’t want me to kneecap pervy teenagers.’

‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t at least dismember them.’ Shaw snarls, eyes utterly serious whilst Root holds back a bark of laughter.

‘I love your way with words Sameen.’

Root slides the guns into the waistband of her jeans and heads off towards the exit.

‘Thanks sweetie: I’ll see you later!’ she calls over her shoulder with a cheery wave.

Shaw doesn’t dignify it with a response but her gaze never leaves Root’s form as she disappears out of the subway.

The silence deafens Shaw; the hum of the monitors doing nothing to ease her restlessness. She stalks over to them, standing and observing stock markets and lines of codes she barely understands.

‘You better,’ she finds herself muttering under her breath, eyes trained to the screen showing Root sauntering off down the street.

Root promises herself to buy Shaw the biggest steak she can find and maybe a pile of blueberry maple syrup pancakes and a bottle of scotch. At least 18 years old.

Shaw promises violence to any and all involved if there is any unwarranted scratch on Root’s guns when she gets back.


End file.
